


Grenades and Horseshoes

by Kameiko



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crime Fighting, Gen, Humor, Investigations, Mind Games, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kameiko/pseuds/Kameiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Castle is trying to figure out how Matt Murdock and Daredevil are the same person. He knows the why makes things less confusing. He just wants to get his answers to the how on the know, and not burn his non-supposedly-cookable-MRE's in the process. </p><p>Fulfilled <a href="http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/7552.html?thread=15391360#cmt15391360">Prompt</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. War Journal: Red Edition – #4 – July 1st 2005

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any franchises, products, and characters mentioned in this story. My work is purely for everybody's enjoyment, and I would like to keep it that way. Having ownership over all this that requires contracts and other lawful fruitfulness is just too much responsibility. I am not ready for that kind of work, nor does my massive paycheck of $0.00 show for it in the world of fanfiction.

_War Journal: Red Edition – #1 – July 1 st 2005_

The same person. That’s what I have to come to grips with. Why? I don’t know why Red became the way he is, nor do I care. Everyone knows what happened with the accident when he pushed the pedestrian out of the way of the vehicle. I did subscribe to a newspaper back then before becoming a wanted criminal to the eyes of the law. Now I am not, and I result to buying one out of the paper dispenser only when people aren’t looking.

The results from my analysis still comes up short, and makes as much sense and deflecting a grenade with a horseshoe. He should have been dead because all those chemicals. He goes off running in that uniform while here I am hiding in plain sight with just an over coat and a baseball cap. I don’t even know who the team is on the hat. Shows how much I really pay attention to how I dress up, and I don’t really care how hot it is. Why am I talking about my clothes to whoever is reading this once I get it written down? Because I am following Red, Matt Murdock, the devil of Hell’s kitchen, the man without fear, and also known as Daredevil.

I always find him walking down this way on my hideout street every morning around the same exact time. Red is an early riser but for what? Last paper I checked that had any news about Nelson & Murdock, which is about two months ago, said are no more, and then it goes blabbering on about how the big bad Punisher is still on the loose, and killing all the criminals in the area. Let them keep talking. I have cases that need to be solved. On to case number one: how can he navigate with his cane? He’s not hitting the ground with it, and is being very careful not to hit people while waving it around in the air like he is doing right now. Case number two: how is he avoiding people? He’s not bumping into them, knows when to move his shoulders at the exact moment, and he even knew how far to step over the puddles in front of him. Case number 3: I don’t have one yet, but I will come up with something.

He continues to walk for a bit more and I continue to follow. It’s been about ten minutes now since we’ve started this journey together, and he has yet to know about me following him. I am growing irritable and hungry. I haven’t had my MRE’s or my black coffee. The paper in my hands becomes wrinkled, and I think Red can hear my stomach rumbling. As soon as it started he stopped walking, and I thought he is going to turn and face me. I hide behind a street light. Having my back leaned up against it, and I unfolded my wrinkled paper. I took a side glance to see what he is going to do.

I am wrong. He didn’t notice me at all. Instead he had a little kid that looks really dirty by the hand, and is scolding him for trying to pick pocket his wallet. Then he bends down to his height, and pulls out a twenty. He hands the kid the money, and tells him to get something to eat. I now have my third case. The case of how Red is able to detect the kid before he dipped into his pockets. That’s what I am going with. I turned back to my paper, and casually took another side glance to see the kid walking pass me with the money in their hands. Seems kind of grumpy. Future delinquent to look out for. Now, how is Red able to figure out what the kid’s motive? Has to be the stench, because that kid smells awful. Case three mystery solved due to body odor, but the other two still remain open.

Red continues down the street, and I continue to follow him. It isn’t till after a few blocks that he stops again. The crowd is still at large, and he didn’t even bother to avoid bumping into people this time. He got a few “watch it!” and “look where you’re going, bum!” from people who are probably hungry, and irritable as me right now.  The journal must continue on. It won’t write its mental self in my head on its own. I am slowly running out of street lights to hide behind, so come on Red. Give me a sign to this whole mess.

The angels must be singing tonight, because Red did stop. Case number 4: Is he a mind reader? If he is then he’s doing a good job toying with me. I should have seen that one coming. Wait a minute. He’s putting away his walking cane, and purposely bumping into people now. Does he know I am here, and signaling to pick a fight for training purposes? No. He’s moving his head from side to side like someone would when they’re straining to hear something. What’s he trying to hear? All I can hear is swearing, car horns, and crying babies. No signs of any mugging or a struggle going on. I am going to see if I can get closer without him noticing.

He starts to walk again, and I walk behind him still pretending to read my newspaper. Every now and then I would take a peak up over it to make sure he’s not looking at me. While he walks he takes off his poker face glasses, and places them neatly into his suit pocket. OK, Red, where are you leading this to that requires you to undress yourself like Clark Kent? I didn’t get my answer as he stops again, and slowly turns his head in my direction. I drop my newspaper before he notices me. I watch all the contents splatter on the ground, and I pretend to be annoyed to draw less attention to myself as I bend down to gather the offending items. I did say I needed a diversion. Not a very good one, but I am out of street lamps. Improvising has to be made in critical stalking situations.

Once my newspaper is gathered in my hands I look up to see that Red is gone. No good. I don’t know where he ran off to, and I currently have no leads to track him. I crumple the newspaper up, and throw it in the trash. I just want my MRE’s and coffee already. I am not in the mood for real good food today. I go back to my underground safe house that is conveniently located in the subway, and whip up some food in a pan. I can hear the sub way cars rattle above my head. Music to my ears. I really want to wrap my head around Red, and figure out how he can be Daredevil, and still be Matt Murdock. I feel like I am clearly missing an answer that is directly under my nose.

I turn on the TV to see if the morning news reports are in. I decide to put Red at the back of my mind for now. I am still The Punisher, and I need to punish the criminals that walk these streets. Let’s see who needs a good killing today. I skim through daytime soap operas, the weather, and cartoons meant for little kids before I land on the news. The news starts out with its daily weather routine before going into a report about a mugging that happened earlier this morning around the area I happened to be at with Red. The muggers all got admitted to the hospital due to broken bones in their faces. Each one had butterfly knives and brass knuckles. I am curious if there are any guns involved. I’ll have to ask Red about it later when we run into each other on our conquest of cleaning up the cities streets since the news report didn’t mention anything about there being any. I’ll make sure I have plenty of stun grenades just for you Red just in case you become you when I am doing my interrogation. I just got to make sure I don’t use them on you when you really do catch me watching you.

Studying and learning about my opponent isn’t really something I would normally do, but I am not trying to kill Red. I will make an exception to my rule just this once. Study first and shoot later if needed to be. I hate it. I am sitting here on the sidelines as if I am the one who is blind. None of this adds up, and looks like my food is burned. Good. I didn’t want to eat this garbage anyways. I just kept telling myself I did, so I can avoid going out right now. I dump the contents in the trash, and notice how full it is getting. Made a mental note to have Microchip take it out when he decides to drop by with more leads on any criminals in the area or toys.

I leave the hideout. Might as well make an attempt to go to the diner today. I adjust my cap to make sure no one recognizes me since it’s getting pretty late into the morning, and I am sure cops are patrolling the streets. I duck into the diner, and see that there are only a few people here. Good. I hate crowded places. I notice that Red is here, and he’s just now leaving. Looks like we both have the same idea about a good breakfast before doing honest to God’s work. I didn’t say anything as I go to walk past him. He gets up, and purposely bumps his arm into mine as he walks by me. I swear I can hear a smirk behind that back of his. I shrug it off for now, and figure I can investigate my mental notes when I get back to the hideout. Right now, real bacon and eggs with really bad coffee are calling my name.

 


	2. War Journal: Red Edition – #2 – July 15th 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank Castle just can't get a night where everything runs smoothly. All he asks is just one night, and then go back home to get a good nights sleep. He can't even get that when he has to babysit both Micro and Red on and off the battlefield. He didn't sign up for this. Micro is in his late 20's, and he's had plenty of time to get out of the "his parents basement" stage of his life. Apparently not. Now, Red on the other hand, Frank shouldn't have to put up with any of the questions he keeps asking himself.

_War Journal: Red Edition – #2 – July 15 th 2005_

I don’t what has come over me tonight to do the things I did. I have Micro blabbering in my ear piece about some vinyl record that he wants. Do I care? Not really. He talks to me about his vinyl record collection at a bad time all the time, and it just comes to the point where I just want this kid to shut up. Right now I am staking out a two-story building where Finn Cooley is hiding at. How he survived my attacks on his face I’ll never know. Maybe God has a funny bone in his body. Either way, Micro is supposed to be looking through the camera feeds the mob have set up to tell me how many people there are in the building. I pull my binoculars away when he starts getting into how he alphabetizes them by shape and sizes. I tell Micro to concentrate on the mission, or I’ll burn his entire record collection that he has safely tucked away at my place to the ground. I can hear him sipping his coke through a straw before talking about what I want. Finally. Play meaningless threat cards right to get what you want, and I hate making false threats. I also realize I disappoint him, but I am not his father. He’s my partner. If he wants to mope around and be sad with my threats that won’t actually happen then I’ll let him.

I continue my investigation through the binoculars. Hopefully Micro can hurry it up just in case a certain Red shows up. He’s been a pain in my neck lately, and I am running out of patience to deal with him. If he shows up and ruins this then I will have to upgrade my stun grenade arsenal to have a longer lasting effect since my supply line seems to be running low. I only brought enough with me just for tonight, which I soon regretted. I will either have to use them on the reunion of the Kitchen Irish men that I haven’t been able to find till now, thanks to a certain boy scout, or use them on the certain boy scout. If I have to use them on Red I won’t be happy, and I will make him buy the vinyl record for Micro.

Come on, Micro. I don’t have all night here. I zoom in on my binoculars, and scope out the building again. There are still only two guards smoking cigarettes at the front door. Easy kills. I place my binoculars on the ground, and pick up a couple of Beretta’s that are lying next to them. I didn’t bring many guns, because I know that the reunion isn’t going to be very big. Only a few stragglers that I didn’t kill are still alive, but the main reconstructed face guy isn’t anywhere to be seen from the outside. This is why I rely on Micro. If he ever hurries up. I bark at Micro to hurry up with a status report. I can hear him groaning and mumbling about me being a jerk. Keep it up and I’ll buy every copy of that record you want in town just to spite you.

I eventually do get the information I need. I put the binoculars in my duffel bag. I tell Micro to make a note to pick these up later. I make haste for the entrance as I crouch behind a parked car. Can’t be seen. I pull out my dart hand gun, and load it with two darts. A fatality to the neck will put them down nice and quietly. I stood up and quickly shoot the two guards blocking my entrance. They both drop down like flies. Easy job so far. I drop the gun, and pull out two of my specialty guns. I load up my Beretta’s with the magazine clips they needed. Can’t go inside with an empty magazine.

Inside on the first floor are only a few guys drinking and watching television, and upstairs a poker game between Finn Cooley and his men is going on. I bet Cooley’s opponents are betting on how ugly his face is under the bandages. There is nobody else, nor a basement or an attic. I don’t like too easy stuff. There’s a trap in there somewhere. Then again, I have to remember what my inside source told me about Cooley having to go underground for the surgery, and he is laying low for the time being with only a few good men. That’s why he’s not drawn the attention of the cops or the feds. Police business is slacking, or they’re relying on me to take care of him. I can read my own sarcasm in the last line. It’s about time someone here appreciates what I do for a living. I can read it here too.

I kick in the door in and unload my bullets onto the unsuspected suspects in the living room. They flop to the ground dead like the scum bag fish they are. I step over them, and go up the stairs. Something isn’t right. I’m about to make my way up stairs when two guys come out of the kitchen and shoots at me. One guy misses, and the other got the back of my Kevlar. I grunt, turn around, and unleash my own bullets to their faces. Where did these two comes from? The camera feeds in the house only showed a few. Not five. Something’s not right. I let Micro know to keep an eye out for anymore gang members.  

I find the door where my target is. Playing poker right? Let’s see if I can royal flush these guys out since they know I am already here. I pull out a grenade to prepare myself. I kick this door in. I aim my gun at the poker table ready to fire, but I am surprise at what I see. Four grown men that weren’t even part of Cooley’s gang, but leaders from others I am familiar with, are hunched over the table dead. Each has a bullet in their head. I’ve been played. I scream at Micro asking him what the hell  is going on. That’s when I find out he made a grave error. He looked into the situation right away and says the camera he hacked into is playing on a loop feed by some kind of strange computer virus, and he didn’t even notice it till now. Really? How many times can the same person get a full house with the same suits used?

This sucks, and I have no idea where my target is. I have no leads, and I can’t rely on Micro’s sense of direction right now since he’s hyperventilating into the microphone. I tell him to get a brown paper bag to breathe in and out of. I quickly turn to leave when I am ambushed by ugly face himself. Stupid mistake. He has a gun touching my forehead, and tells me to drop my guns, grenades, and raise my hands in the air. Why don’t I just grab the gun out of his hand, and shoot you in the forehead instead? I am about to do just that when I see Red pop up behind him, and kicks him in the back of the neck.

Thanks Red. As Cooley is distracted I quickly grab both of my guns off the ground, and aim them at the two fighting. Red can barely hold his own right now, which I find a bit off. He can barely hold his own against me when we fight, but a gang leader thug like Cooley should have been an easy take down. Another case I’ll have to add to my case files. Maybe he hasn’t been eating enough. He does looks unhealthy, or the stress of Nelson & Murdock going under is affecting his fighting skills. Whatever it is I will find out later. My only problem right now is that Red keeps getting in the way of my shots, and he’s doing it on purpose; so that I don’t “accidentally” kill Cooley.

There is, however, another option. I can use my stun grenades on the both of them. I tell red if he doesn’t get out of my way he will be temporarily deaf. He doesn’t listen, and is just punching Cooley’s face in like any other bad guy he kicks in the ass. Well, I did warn you. I pick up the grenade off the floor, back out of the range of fire, pull the pin, and launch it at the two. The two instantly break apart as it goes off, and are falling all over the furniture. That part is always funny. I aim my gun at Cooley and shoot him in the head. He die’s on impact. Good. Now I don’t have to worry about him anymore. Unless the devil has a funny bone, and brings him back to life. No? Damn. I would have enjoyed killing him again.

I go over to Red and grab his arm. He’s still struggling, and manages to get a few swings in. His punches didn’t hurt as much as they use to. Also, not a good sign. I don’t need a weak sometimes partner at my side when we have to team up. I also don’t need him trying to break my arms when I get him out of here. I take my own fist and knock him out. I lift him up, and put his arm over my shoulder. He’s not as heavy as he looks anymore. I guess my first theory about Red not eating is only the partial truth. First, I have to make sure that he doesn’t break my face in like he did to Cooley’s to ask him about his eating habits. In order for him not to do that I ask Micro to come over to the current safe house that I have a few blocks from here with chloroform. He didn’t ask why, and says he’ll be there in twenty minutes. He finally learns not to ask questions. Although I am going to have to buy that kid a bike to get to me sooner one day.

We made it to the safe house in one piece. I drop his ass on the cot. I am debating if I should handcuff him to the bed to make sure he doesn’t try to punch me when he wakes up. I didn’t get enough time to grab them as Micro comes in with the bottle I asked for. I take the chloroform out of his hands, and place it right next to where Red is sleeping. I have to make sure it’s in reaching distance for me and not for him. I then tell Micro to get a first aid kit, so I can stitch up a wound that Red received on his face. Apparently all that tumbling and falling Red did when I stunned him caused him to hit the end table, and slice his cheek open. That isn’t my fault, and if he only listened to me then none of this would be happening. I am only stitching him up, because I don’t want him to continue bleeding all over my bed. I do sleep here on occasion.

Once done I ask Micro to put the stuff back where it goes. He just stands there ignoring my instructions. I look at him to see the miserable sad puppy face he has on. Buck up, kid. Mistakes do happen, and I didn’t break my picture frame to get the disc, and blow my house up to have having you sob all over my floor. You just got to learn from them. Learn quickly before I end up dead. In the end I end up putting the stuff up myself. Once I am done with that I count my cash to make sure I have enough for this area to resupply. Running a bit low. Only have 500 grand. Going to be using that to buy fancy end stun grenades this time. Maybe get them Red proofed. After that I disable the electrical wall around my gun rack, and place them back on. I go to re-enable the fence, because no one touches my guns but me. I only stop when I hear Red moaning.

I turn to face him to see he’s frantically trying to climb his way out of the clot. He keeps screaming why does his cheek hurt, and why is he here. I should have placed the chloroform on my person. I go over to Red, and hold him down with all the strength I could muster before he ends up ripping his stitches open. I am still pretty sore from his earlier tantrum, but I do eventually get him to calm down when I start speaking to him. Once he’s calm I let go of him, and he instantly gets up. He bumps pass me again, and goes to the door. He tries to open it, but doesn’t realize it has a pass code on the inside and outside. I stare at Micro to see him watching in confusion. I tell him to unlock the door for him, and give the poor guy one of my untraceable cell phones from the cabinet. He does so, and Red flings the door open. He drops to his knees and breathes heavily.

Not sure why he’s doing so. The grenade did more damage than it should have on him. I would have been better off chucking a horseshoe at his head to knock him out. At least he would only wake up with a mild concussion. Hopefully. For now I just let him be as he vomits all over the ground. No need for me to clean that up. I tell Red where we are located, and I tell Micro to start packing up the safe house. We won’t be using it anymore.


	3. War Journal: Red Edition – #3 – July 16th 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank takes the night off, thanks to mother Micro, to contemplate the case files he has on Red. He's disappointed that he's forced to do so, but he can't simply ignore their own body like he normally does. If he does then he'll have to continue living through the mother Micro treatment, and get smacked in the face with ice packs.

_War Journal: Red Edition – #3 – July 16 th 2005_

I am mildly sore both physically and in the ego. Red’s baby punches might have not hurt as much as they should have, but he kept hitting me in the same spots over and over again. My body needs a night to heal itself to my standards before I go back out again, and when I mean by “my standards” I mean when Micro stops mothering me like he’s the older adult here. I can handle a few bruised bones, but I can’t handle Micro going off the handle at me about me being a suicidal moron; and not taking better care of myself while I am on my war path. That’s where my ego is bruised at. I don’t need some kid trying to take care of me.

I wish I could say something, but never insult the nurse who has the ice packs and the medical tape wrapping tightly around your arm. He might try to cut off the circulation, and make sure I am never able to shoot another gun again. That will be disappointing. I have grown fond of that mini gun that I took. I’ll have to loosen them later when he’s not around. For now I’ll let him have his way. I roll onto my side as he is still wrapping my arm and the ice pack fell off. He picks it up, and throws it on the side of my face. That didn’t feel good, and he doesn’t even finish wrapping my arm. He just storms off somewhere cursing at me. He’ll be back later to finish the job. Maybe.

He doesn’t come back to finish the job. I take the opportunity to loosen up the bandages. Kid really did pack my muscles up tight. Once done I pick up a discarded book on the ground and turn to the front page. It’s just musings and thoughts I have on Red transcribed to paper. I flip a few more pages until I reach the first very case file I have on Red. It’s of our second encounter on the roof. No, not the one where I shot him in the face but the other one. The one where we both went through the glass roof. That’s when I started to question Red and his abilities. How does one all of a sudden go deaf after recovering from such a drop? One minute he stands there smirking at me like he’s about to kick my ass, and the next thing I know he’s breathing heavily, and screaming out incoherent words. All because of some glass I stepped on? That’s not the answer, but it’s the only confidential conclusion I can come up with. I won’t go into the roof top fight, because I’m the one who made the mistake of taping a gun to Red’s hand. I didn’t predict he would blow the chains off. Next case file.

The second case file wouldn’t have ever existed if it isn’t for that woman’s death. For example a week after that whole ninja fiasco thing going on Red is out fighting his good fight, along comes me wanting to kill a few bad men, and I see him beating up some people who are probably trying to steal from an old lady or someone. I stand back to watch the fight. Red can handle himself, and stopping petty theft isn’t something I care about. He’s doing a good job at it too. I haven’t seen Red bloody up this many faces in a long time. Once they are down for the count I turn my back to go back to strolling the neighborhood until I hear a sob. I turn around to see Red on his knees, and staring at his bloodied hands. Is he crying? I couldn’t tell due to his mask hiding his tears. He does look miserable though from what I can tell from his frown, and in the dire need of a hug. Sorry about that Red. I don’t do hugs anymore. I turn and walk away from the scene.

The third case file is a continuation of the second one in a part two format. From what my inside sources tell me this use to happen a lot and that Red at one point became more violent over the weeks. Till one day Red just snapped and started having a break down in the middle of the fight. Red is doing less and less beatings and taking more and more of what he is supposed to dish out. This is not supposed to be the other way around. That’s not Red. That man can take down any thug criminals with ease. So what’s the deal? I go out and try to find him. I have Micro searching traffic cameras in the city to see if he spots him. He does. He gives me the location of the muggers that are in fact beating the hell out of Red when I get there. I take out my gun, and shoot them both. I go over to Red to see if there is any blood or broken bones. There are none. Just a broken man who is curled in on himself and shaking like a leaf. I put my gun away, and lean down to stare at him. What am I supposed to say? That everything will be ok? It’s not and things might never be ok. Instead I choose the cold shoulder and not say anything. I get up and walk away. He’ll be fine.

I am counting this one as a fourth case file, because it’s all on Red’s head for this one. Is Red really all at fault here for what transpired though? He’s trying to hide behind his own self guilt, and losses that he is ultimately going to get himself killed in the end. It’s not going to be my fault when he does. This time when I find him I happened to have been in search of a target that got away from me, and I spot an unconscious Red in a pool of his own blood. How convenient. He really must have gotten the shakes badly if he’s on the verge of dying. I kneel down by his body, and see he’s been stabbed in the side by some kind of special knife. Looked very ninja like. I push that thought to the back of my mind, and quickly take out my combat knife in my boot. I use it to cut my shirt up that I have under my armor, and proceed to use it as a tourniquet to wrap around his torso. Once the knot is nice and Micro’s standards tight I flip through his phone to see who I can call. I can’t exactly send Red to the hospital, but there has to be someone. I try to call Foggy and get no answer. The other person on his contacts is a person named Claire and then there’s Karen. I opt for Karen. I don’t know who Claire is.  

Once Karen arrives she looks devastated. She tells me to help get Matt into the passenger side of the car, so she can beg her really good mutual friend, who later I find out doesn’t work at the hospital and is in fact Claire, to patch him up at her home. I didn’t question any of it for now. Once he’s in she snatches the phone out of my hands, and drives like a bat out of hell down the road. While she deals with that I go back to finding my target. I eventually found him, and he soon found God.

I have plenty of other cases concerning Red, and his recovery, but for now I am done searching. Micro is back with apparently black coffee and greasy Chinese take out. Good, because I am out of MRE’s again. He sits on the edge of my bed, and hands me a plate full of heart attack. I grunt thanks, and dig in. It hurts to move my arm to eat, but I manage. I don’t want mother Micro to give me another lecture and call me an asshole.

After we are done he tosses the food in the over flowing trash can. Oh yeah, he needs to take that out. I point to the bin, and he groans just once this time. He takes it out, and I place my book under the bed. I lie back down and start to think about the past few months. Red’s been a flip flop of an emotional roller coaster and anyone that knows Red can figure out the reason for that. It still doesn’t lead me any closer to my actual goal of trying to figure him out. Why is he the way he is? What’s going on in his personal life that’s actually causing him to fight sloppy? I’ll have to find out some time. Right now I just want to sleep, and hope mother Micro goes off and plays hacker or something.


	4. War Journal: Red Edition – #4 – July 18th 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's the worse thing that can happen to someone? Besides the usual not knowing how one is going to die, and when one will die? Nobody knows right away, and it's not always related to death. Friendships and love interests can come and go as they please unless they're meant to be, but what about memories? They can stay with someone forever until disease or death, but one can't ignore the fact they have happened. Even through all the fighting.

_War Journal: Red Edition – #4 – July 18 th 2005_

Mother Micro makes me sit out another day. I didn’t like it, and it isn’t something I wish to talk about here. So let’s just keep this journal moving forward. I’m sitting here in my chair wondering about all the simplistic events that went down today. Nothing special of any sorts. Just a small story to add to this journal. First I need to find myself a drink. Micro is dipping into my alcohol again, and he knows I’ll make him pay for it. I’ll have to put a lock on the cabinet when I get a chance. Kid knows he has his own stuff, and it’s not my fault he finds himself drinking through his stash faster than me.

I stumble through his stash, and find a bunch of light garbage. Not surprised. The kid gets sick every time he sees me brutally kill someone through his cameras, so why should I expect some hard bourbon lying around. I pull out a bottle and go to the makeshift kitchen for a glass. I don’t find any clean ones. Micro needs to do the dishes when he returns from whatever he’s doing. I go back to my chair, and flop myself down in it. I pop open the bottle cap, and chug down half the bottle. Good time to be alive. Isn’t that right, Red? You don’t seem to be living by my example at all. Here, I’ll drink for you. Cheers.

I decide to make a journey to Red’s old law firm earlier today. I’m in my usual baseball cap and over coat disguise with today’s newspaper. When I arrive at the building I saw Karen and Red arguing about where their relationship with one another is headed. Not in a romantic sort of way, that door closed a long time ago, but in their happy picture you can hang on the wall like friendship. Not that this is any of my business, but I decide to keep myself hidden on the side of the building. I pull out my newspaper, and start reading today’s headlines. Another supposedly good politician makes the front page instead of the usual big bad Punisher who is actually doing good in this city, because I hate the criminals here. Then there are the happy fantasy side stories about bake sales going on at elementary schools, and ads for free puppies and kittens. All is cute and cuddly in the world. Not what I need.

My reading stops when I heard Karen smack Red in the face. I hope it’s not on the side with the stitches. My hard work doesn’t come easy around here, but if Karen just undo that then she can stitch him up herself. I am not in the mood to babysit someone who runs around in long johns right now or tonight. Frustrated I forcefully turn the page of my newspaper. What does this page say that’s all happy right with the world. Nothing exciting, but wait, what’s this? An article about Red? Shocking that it’s not the top story, but some people are calling in complaints and concerns about the level of measure he’s been using lately on their delinquent children. What do the papers know? Unless the police suspect something, and try to send him to jail then a newspaper article from soccer moms and concerned rich people don’t bother me. I keep reading anyways. One guy that says he works for some precinct says once he finds Red and randomly throws my name in there that we’ll both be incarcerated at Riker’s. Poor Red wouldn’t survive a day in a place like that; especially, with…him that I plan to kill one day. I’d have to get myself locked up again with him to make sure he stays alive.

The fighting about their current and future lives that go on for quite a while, and I am out of paper to read. Eventually the talking turns into Karen screaming, and Red raising his voice a little. Oh here we go. Everyone’s tired of Red doing this and that, and that is all I am hearing. Along with the lines of we’ve done a lot, all you do is get hurt, what about us, what about you, and stuff I haven’t heard ten times over. Then I hear something break. What is in her purse that is made of glass? I don’t know, and I hear her feet clicking right pass me. I cover my face with the newspaper as best I can. She only stops once to turn around to give Red a look that says she’s about to cry. Sorry Karen I’ve ran out of sympathy cards to give you. Then like that she’s gone, and Red’s walking right by me.

He turns to look at me as he is walking, and I see the blood coming down his cheek. She did smack him in the check with the stitches after all. I say nothing as he turns his back to me and continues on walking. Now, whoever is reading this is probably going to ask me if I feel any remorse to Red bleeding? No. I am just mad that my hard work went down the drain. No use crying over it now. I get off the building and go inside where a bunch of small different businesses are. I walk to the old office, and see how bad it has gotten over the few months. It’s pretty bad when the name is peeling off the window on the door.

I force open the door and step inside the place. It smells really bad. There are discarded take out boxes with a dash of flies in the trash bin. I snort at the smell, and start to look around. Boxes upon boxes are stacked up all around the place. I look through a few boxes to see files about clients and anything that I can use to figure out Red. I go around the room to find Red’s desk. I see open folders and files on his desk about me. There are pictures of the criminals I’ve taken out from different gangs laid out. Looks like foggy put his bribery with the new district attorney to good use, and to make Red have more catholic guilt. Wonder if he even looked at any of these. So conveniently placed. I pick up one, and it’s the one with the Mexican cartel scum hanging on meat hooks. Should have placed their intestines on tree branches instead. I put the photos back down, and continue looking around the room.

There are pictures still hanging on the walls that consist of the holy trinity of friends. Some are at parties, a trip to the beach, a trip here, a trip somewhere, and some happy faces. Now there are no more happy faces, no more Nelson & Murdock, no more happy trinity. Who’s to blame for that? Themselves is the obvious answer. I step out of the office soon after that, and I see Foggy In front of me. He looks worried and out of breath. He’s mumbling stuff that I can’t understand. Why should I care? I go to walk pass him, but he grabs my shirt sleeve, and begs me for help. Something about how Red randomly punched a couple of people, and he’s been arrested. He’ll just get out with a slap on the wrist like the cops are his mother. Not my problem. I shake my arm loose, and continue to walk out the building. I’m no hero Foggy. Find somebody else.

Foggy continues to follow me down the sidewalk, and I take out my newspaper. I need the name of school where those cookies are being sold at. I don’t get to find out, because Foggy snatches it out of hands. I stop walking, and give him this look that says “give me back my paper or get severely hurt”. It fails. He just tosses it on the sidewalk, and goes on again about Red. I don’t care Foggy! It’s not my concern! I continue to walk, and he yells at me that it’s some cop that’s been trying to find Red. He then tells me that the cop that arrested him thinks it’s him, because of all the ninja stunts he pulls off like Daredevil will do. Damnit. He might actually get sent to Riker’s just under that alone. Cops around here haven’t been too fond of Red since the whole thing with that woman. I guess the city forgot about the man that put it in the hole to begin with.

I turn to look at Foggy. I tell him to keep in touch, and hand him my cell phone. I have plenty more at the safe house. Then I finally walk away from him. He gives one final yell to tell me not to kill the cop. Like I am. I don’t kill cops. First, I’ll need to find out where this dirt bag lives. Lucky for me I remember the name from the newspaper. He and I are going to have a little one on one talk about looking for trouble where there is none. Then I am going to have a nice little chat with Red about beating up old people. I don’t know if they’re old or not. I just want something interesting to write down. Tomorrow is a new beginning, and explaining this one to Micro is going to be fun.

Fast forward to now. Here I am not even getting drunk off this crap, and I’ve been through a case already. It has a fruity taste, but 5% alcohol isn’t alcohol. I toss the empty bottle with the others and stand up. Not even woozy. I go lie down on my bed anyways, and stare up at the ceiling. I think I drank more than I should have between the two of us, Red.


	5. War Journal: Red Edition – #5 – July 19th 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol solves all the problems in the world. That's what officer dick thinks. Frank Castle isn't in the mood for anyone's crap today; especially, not from some rich guy who thinks that he can cheat the system to get where he needs to be at in fortune. Give the man a few broken fingers, and make him really drunk. Once he follows these easy steps then officer dick will spill all his secrets on Red. Yes, alcohol really does make the world spin with its drunken state.

_War Journal: Red Edition – #5 – July 19 th 2005_

I manage to find out where the cop lives. It’s not hard to figure out when Foggy is giving you the full details of the investigation. Red is no longer being held at the precinct thanks to the traffic cameras recording the whole thing that went down. What does Foggy want me to do? He tells me to handle the guy but not to kill him. He thinks that the police officer and the two guys are behind the whole thing. I tell him not to worry, and now here I am walking down some rich person’s neighborhood dressed up in the most ridiculous outfit that I felt like paying for. I hide my hair under a fedora this time instead of a baseball cap. I look at my gold watch, and just want to shake it off. Rich watches are something I don’t want to get use to.

I left my ear piece, my weapons, and my usual cell phone back at the base. I am walking and pretending to talk into the newest blackberry that just came out in the market. No service of course. I am tailing the cop with two bags of groceries in his hand. Now the kind gentlemen I am I put my phone away, and ask him if he needs any help. He says he didn’t want to dirty up my expensive suit, but I insist on helping him. I held out my hands for him to place both bags into mine. He looks at me awkwardly, but figures free help doesn’t come along these parts too often. He places the bags into my hands, and I ask him where to. He points to his house a few blocks down from here. I nod, and continue the journey with him right next to me. It’s a very uncomfortable silence.

We make it to his house in one piece. He makes a motion for me to place the bags in his hands. I put on the most sincere fakest smile I can come up with, and tell him I can put them on the counter for him. He really must not get a lot of help, because he doesn’t argue with me. Why would he? I look rich, and not here to cause trouble. With that said I walk inside, and place the bags onto the counter. I go to leave, but he makes a notion to sit down on the stool, so we can have a drink together. A drink and a future interrogation? I’m down for that. I sit on the stool, and cross my arms over the counter. He pulls out a bottle of scotch, and grabs two glasses from the cabinet. He then proceeds to pour the liquid into the glasses. I say nothing, and slowly drink the glass down. I don’t want to seem like I am desperate after Micro’s crap alcohol. My cop friend on the other hand downs his in one go. Someone has some problems they need to get off their chest. Too bad. See a shrink.

I grab the bottle from the counter, and pour myself another glass. I wonder who can finish the bottle first, and not get wasted over this. I drink the glass down to halfway, and set it back down. I cover the top to let him know I can’t drink anymore. He just smirks at me and downs his own glass again. He grabs the bottle himself and pours more into his glass. I don’t say anything at first, and just watch him drink three quarters of the bottle by himself. Whatever problems you have my friend I have no sympathy for you after what you have done to Red. I take more sips out of my drink, and watch his face go red. Perfect. This shouldn’t be difficult at all. He pours the last bit into his glass, looks disappointed when very little comes out, and drowns himself in the last bit. I slide whatever is left in my glass over to him. He doesn’t even hesitate to take it as he drinks the rest of it up.

Once he’s done with that he looks at the bag of groceries. I notice there’s another bottle of scotch just sticking out of the top. I go over to it, and pull it out. He tries to grab it, but I held it out of his reach. Angrily he reaches for his gun, and drunkenly tries to shoot me in the shoulder. He misses. I drop the hard bottle to the ground and grab the officer’s wrist. I give it a sharp twist, and he instantly drops the gun. I let him go, pick it up, and motion for him to sit back on the stool while waving the gun at him. He gets up, and does so. I empty the clip of bullets to the ground, and set the gun in front of him. I tell him if he tries to use the weapon as a blunt object he’ll be spending the rest of the night in the emergency room. He screams at me that I can’t do this, that he’s a high ranking officer in the police force, and demands who I am. I take off my fedora, and he instantly goes pale.

No more back talk? Good. I have no time for such pettiness. I pick up the bottle of scotch off the ground, and poor me a drink. I quickly swallow it down faster than he does. He just glares at me, and is doing his absolute best not to shake. That’s just cute. I don’t need cute. I need incoherent fear. I take the bottle and slam it hard on the counter. He jumps, and is begging me not to kill him. Good. I strike the fear of God in him. I pour myself another glass, and swallow that one down in one go as well. I am a little flushed myself, but I can handle my alcohol. Now, I need to get down to business. I tell him to go fetch me a laptop as I pull out a thumb drive from my pocket. He wastes no time in doing so. I tell him if he tries anything I’ll blow up his house with him in it as I am leaving. I didn’t plant a bomb. Just a bluff, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He comes back with the latest of the line laptop. I tell him to open it. He does so, plugs in his password, and I hand him the flash drive. He plugs it in, and I tell him to open up the only video file there. He does so, and doesn’t know what to say. I got him where I wanted. On the file is of him with the two thugs he paid off to jump Red. He thought he is out of the sight of cameras by staying on the side of the building, but someone forgot to take in the fact about the new traffic camera installation in that area after the incident with the ninja’s. He shoves the laptop to the side, and says this is some cheap trick; and that he is forced to pay people to do these things to random people. Nice try. I would believe you if you aren’t living in such a fancy house like this on a normal cop’s salary. I am not playing your game today officer prick. I slam the laptop shut, and take the thumb drive back out. I place it in my pocket and tell him to explain to me why he hired those thugs to jump that blind lawyer.

He tells me to go to hell. Ok. I see we’re playing this game. I tell him to open the laptop again, and look up a certain website. As he opens the laptop, and gets his fingers in the exact position I need them in I slam the laptop shut hard on his finger tips. He pulls them out and starts screaming in pain. Calm down you big baby. I’ve only broken a couple. I grab his head and slam it on the counter. I hold him there, and break the scotch bottle on the side of counter. I hold the broken end close to his neck, and tell him to start talking or start bleeding. He begs me to let him go, and says that he’ll tell me everything. I do so, and sit back down on the stool.

I am expecting him to tell me his undying hatred for the lawyer that screwed him over in a case, and thinks he’s daredevil; because of the fighting stance and being a fearless man but no. He doesn’t tell me any of that. In fact he tells me something I didn’t expect at all. He tells me, because his boss told him to do it. His boss being none other then Wilson Fisk. He is paid to not just beat up blind lawyer, but to go after anyone that is associated with him. Either study them or attack them if needed. He then goes on about Fisk being really descriptive on what to do to Red. That he wants him studied, attacked, and manipulated if possible but fake any attacks like he’s the one doing the hurting. Too bad Red really did end up hurting them. I ask him what data he found out. He says it didn’t matter, because all that data went to Fisk before I even showed up. Well damn. Looks like Red, and I are going to actually sit down and have a long talk over some hard liquor.

I get up, take the other bottle of scotch from the bag, and pick up my fedora off the counter. The police dick asks me why he’s still alive. I don’t tell him why just incase he uses that against me as well. He laughs when I say nothing, and tells me that I am also being studied. That’s enough. I take my fist, and punch him hard enough to knock him out for a few minutes. I watch him topple off the stool and flop to the ground. I hope he tells his boss that he can’t take a punch like a good test subject. Study me Wilson Fisk and get all the information you need. I will kill you the next chance I get. With that said in this journal I place the hat back on my head. Tip it good-bye to the unconscious body, and leave with my new found love that goes by the name of scotch.


	6. War Journal: Red Edition – #6 – July 20th 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answers? Answers? You want answers? You can't handle the truth, Frank. No one is going to tell you anything, and you'll just have to continue wondering alone in your thoughts. Have your drink, have your chat, and just enjoy the fact that you're not in jail yet. Frank Castle! He now sits here and wonders away while thanking out loud to everyone that read this story! He greatly appreciates the irony!

_War Journal: Red Edition – #6 – July 20 th 2005_

This is not how I expected the talk to go. Throwing punches and kicks at one another when all I did is ring Red’s door bell. He sees me and instantly takes a swing at me. We’re in his apartment trying to take one another out. I left all my gear at home, and have on no body armor. I didn’t think I would need it. I think wrong sometimes. At least his punches aren’t hurting as much as they did the other day. They still hurt, but my body can take them now. Micro’s ice pack remedy really did help. Remind me not to thank him.

I block his blow that is aimed for my head. I grabbed his arm, and give him a flip. He lands his back right on the coffee table. He takes his feet, and kicks me in the back of my knees. I buckle out, and drop to the ground. He’s right on top of me pounding my face in. I have to do something or I am going to pass out. I grab his arm, and swing him to the couch. He hits the arm rest, and goes to kick me again. I grab his leg, and he uses his momentum to push me on top of the coffee table now. Now or never. He goes to land some punches in my direction, but I kick him in the crotch. This gives me enough time to go to the kitchen to get a sharp knife.

I find what I am looking for in one of the drawers, and held it out in a defense stance. He just laughs at me. Don’t get cocky Red. He charges at me, grabs my wrist, and makes me drop the knife. Good. That’s exactly what I want you to do. He’s too concentrated on my wrist that I take the opportunity to use my other fist and punch him square in the jaw. He stumbles backwards, and falls to the ground unconscious. This shall buy me a little time. Unfortunately it is the side his stitches are on that I hit, so once again they came undone. Great. I bring his heavy ass to the couch, and put him in a sitting position. I go back to the kitchen to see if I can find a special first aid kit. I know he has to have one with needle and thread here since he probably gets cut a lot.

I find it, and get all the stuff I need. I plop myself down on the coffee table, and he starts to wake up. I quickly grab his chin, and tell him that his stitches came undone again. He doesn’t try to do anything fancy this time, which gives me a moment of peace to talk to him. I clean the wound and get to work. He doesn’t even wince when I push the needle into his skin. He just takes it like a good man. I don’t say anything at first, and it’s probably for the best. I don’t need Red getting stressed out while I am poking and prodding his skin. Once I am done I throw the stuff to the side, and put some sterile wrap on the wound. This time no one should punch him in the face. Hopefully. I give it a soft pat, and go to his kitchen.

I pull out a bottle of liquor from his cabinet. This man knows how to live unlike a certain partner. I don’t even bother with a glass. Maybe Red and I can split the bottle. God knows he needs it. I plop right back down on the couch in front of him with my feet up on the coffee table. He makes a noise, but I ignore it. I pop the cap to the bottle, and take a few swigs before handing it to Red. He takes it and throws it at the door causing it to shatter. What a waste. I take my feet off the table, and give him a cold hard glare. I know he can’t see it, but I’m sure his voodoo stuff can. He just turns his head away in disgust. What more you want from me? I took my feet off your cheap furniture.

I ask Red why he attacked me. He says that I am a no good criminal, and deserve to be put in Riker’s. Oh Red, you don’t want to put me back in that playground. I’ll kill all those criminals. Your best bet would have me put in solitary confinement. Not much you can do there. I don’t tell him any of that. He doesn’t need to get anymore ideas on how to get rid of me. I try to go for the next best thing, and ask him about his deal with his friends. He stiffens when I mention them. Not on good terms I take it. He tells me to mind my own business, and don’t worry myself with petty nonsense that I wouldn’t understand. I roll my eyes. Ok, he wants to play the stuck up hero.  

I get up and plop my ass down next to him. I lean over, and give him a good hard look. He looks fidgety, and his fists are clenching and unclenching. Probably wants to punch me again. I tell him to punch me. He does, and I don’t try to block it this time when he gets one good sucker punch to my jaw. He says now we’re even. He scoots away on the couch, and stares at the door where all the broken glass is. Maybe cleaning up the glass will get me on his good side a bit. I ask him where his broom and dust pan are, and he tells me. I get the stuff and clean up the mess. I notice there are shards of glass from some other bottles mixed with the one I threw. Red must be making bottle throwing an Olympic sport here. I put all the contents in the garbage, and put the cleaning stuff away.

He mumbles a thank you, and says he could have cleaned it up himself. Ungrateful. I also don’t think I am going to get my answers today, so I am just going to leave. I go to open the door, but he stops me. He asks why I am really here. I turn to look at him. I tell him bluntly that I want to learn more about him, and see if we can team up on more then one occasion. He snorts, and says that he’ll never tell me, and never will do a team up with me again after the other night. I kind of figured that, but I needed to know first hand. I shrug my shoulders and go to leave. He tells me to wait again as I am opening the door. What is it this time, Red? He tells me thank you for what I did for him. The cop thing? If you knew what really went down you wouldn’t be thanking me. I left out a few details when I told Foggy the story. Red probably already knows what I did, but if he’s going to keep being in denial then I’ll let him.

I leave the place, and close the door behind me. I can hear shuffling going on from the inside. As I am walking away I hear another glass bottle hit the door and break. I am not going back to clean that up again. I send a text message to Foggy to tell him to come cheer up his friend, and stop making his friends feet get cuts on them from all the bottle shards. He texts me back, and says he has no idea what I’m talking about. I tell him to come over and talk to Red, or get a beating. He says he’s on his way. I put my phone away, and start my way to the exit of the building. You can thank me later Red, and get use to your trauma’s Red. No one’s going to be there for you all the time to pull you out.


End file.
